


Staring up at a Reflection of the World

by RogueTranslator



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Angst, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Control Issues, Erotica, First Love, First Time, Friendship, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessiveness, Romance, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: "The rushing heat, the near-pain, in Craig’s head swelled as John Paul’s fingers met the bare skin of his waist. Craig shut his eyes, trying to burn into his mind the gentle tickle of his best mate’s breath on his neck, the brief flash of discomfort as his naked torso met the draughty room, the vulnerability he felt with his hands suspended above his head, waiting for John Paul to tease the vest all the way off. Maybe, Craig thought fleetingly, he’d want to forget all this one day, even if it were the closest thing to euphoria he’d ever experienced. But he thought it was just as likely that he’d want to remember everything."What happened in John Paul's bedroom, and in Craig's head, on 16 May 2007.
Relationships: Craig Dean/John Paul McQueen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Staring up at a Reflection of the World

“Are you sure?”

Craig squinted the tears out of his eyes and let his hand slip from the pale column of John Paul’s neck. John Paul’s fingers dug into the grooves of his ribs, holding him at bay. The few inches of air between them crackled with expectation.

What had he said? It was hard to focus on John Paul’s voice over the hot thudding of blood in his ears.

 _Are you sure?_ Craig pieced together the question in his mind and looked down at the bedroom floor. He dropped to his heels, no longer needing to match John Paul’s height. _Are you sure?_

For a split-second, he doubted. His eyes flicked to the bed, then down to the bulge that was pushing at the fly of his black jeans. Maybe if he ignored the question, overpowered John Paul, hurled both of them into the messy duvet, kissed him into submission, he wouldn’t have to admit this was happening to the sneering, scornful part of himself that was watching the two of them from a far remove, ashamed at how easily he had given in to these feelings. His hand wavered between their chests, acting out his internal battle.

No. Before that thought had even fully unwound itself, he knew that John Paul deserved more.

 _Yes._ Craig tensed into John Paul’s arms and looked up again. He nodded; caressed John Paul’s cheek, then the nape of his neck; thrilled to the sudden absence of resistance as John Paul let Craig fall into him again. _Yes._ He opened his mouth to say it: only the barest of sounds escaped, but it was enough, and then they kissed again. Craig noted, with satisfaction and greed and a little trepidation, that all of John Paul’s hesitancy had fled, leaving the desperate hunger with which he parted his lips for him.

They shuffled to the single bed. John Paul guided their way, even though he was walking backwards, and Craig was glad for that because the blood was hot and loud again, making it hard to pay attention to anything but the firm hands that held him by the rise of his neck and the small of his back. At the foot of the bed, Craig walked his fingers along the middle of John Paul’s sky-blue T-shirt, then slipped his white hoodie from his shoulders and guided it to the carpet. John Paul ducked his head away as the hoodie fell from his hand and gestured at the books and papers scattered across the mattress.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone.” He twisted his torso in Craig’s arms. “I’ll move it.”

Craig grinned as John Paul bent here and there, flicking smaller things to the walls, stacking larger things only to send them tumbling to the floor.

“What?” John Paul said, once he had finished. He was sitting halfway down the bed, returning Craig’s smile.

Craig opened his mouth, then shook his head and walked wordlessly to him. Their knees touched; John Paul rolled his neck in little semicircles as Craig explored the golden crown of his head with both hands.

“You’ll mess up my hair,” John Paul quipped.

“I’ll mess up far more than that,” Craig said, hastily, huskily, and it sounded awkward in the pregnant silence of the room. His fingers paused, and for a second, he felt a wave of panic and shame swelling up from his diaphragm.

John Paul reached out and rattled Craig’s loose belt buckle, returning him to the moment.

“Take off my shirt first,” Craig said, squinting his eyes.

John Paul flicked at the hem of the grey polo, then stood up to peel it over Craig’s chest and past his arms.

“Now, my vest,” Craig whispered, dropping the polo in a ball to the floor.

The rushing heat, the near-pain, in Craig’s head swelled as John Paul’s fingers met the bare skin of his waist. Craig shut his eyes, trying to burn into his mind the gentle tickle of his best mate’s breath on his neck, the brief flash of discomfort as his naked torso met the draughty room, the vulnerability he felt with his hands suspended above his head, waiting for John Paul to tease the vest all the way off. Maybe, Craig thought fleetingly, he’d want to forget all this one day, even if it were the closest thing to euphoria he’d ever experienced. But he thought it was just as likely that he’d want to remember everything.

John Paul kissed underneath his chin and planted a question, more a vibration on Craig’s skin than an audible sound: “You okay?”

Craig swallowed; his Adam’s apple slid back and forth across John Paul’s lips. “Just keep going.”

He tensed his abs as John Paul’s hands travelled down his upper body in a broad V, meeting where the rivet held his jeans loosely together. Craig opened his eyes and watched, his arms behind his back, as John Paul undid the button of his fly and tugged down his zipper, leaving his trousers hanging open around his hips. John Paul paused, the lust animating his features momentarily crossed with bewilderment, before sliding his hands into the breach and pushing Craig’s jeans to his ankles.

“Uh,” Craig said. They were both staring at the tent in his white Y-fronts.

“Craig, wow.” John Paul dabbed at the damp patch on Craig’s briefs. Craig’s cock jumped; then, his whole body twitched, as if hit by static. He shuffled back inelegantly, nearly tripping over his belt and trousers.

“Is something—”

“Just—” Craig stumbled as he stepped out of his jeans, then pulled off his socks. Once he had only his underwear left on, he looked at John Paul again.

“Craig.” John Paul had stood up again; he was silhouetted in the mid-afternoon light that streamed in through the windows on the far wall. “You’re beautiful.”

Craig blinked, brought his hands to his head, and gripped his fingers to his skull. _You’re beautiful._ No one had ever said that to him; he’d never even said it to himself, notwithstanding all his preening in public. Part of him—the part watching from afar—wanted to giggle. Making a joke of things was the way he’d always coped. The rest of him, overcome with the enormity of John Paul unlocking a part of himself that he had never known existed, wanted to sob with the rare catharsis of pure joy.

“Hey,” John Paul was saying. His hands, hot and tender, were pressing at Craig’s hips. Craig wiped at his eyes, dropped his arms to John Paul’s shoulders, and leaned forward on his toes to kiss him.

 _I’m beautiful._ Craig’s eyes, pressed shut though they were, smiled until John Paul dipped his head and glanced over his shoulder at his bed.

Craig nodded and walked John Paul backwards until his calves hit the edge of the mattress. John Paul fell into the duvet, spread his arms out, and looked up at Craig.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning with both hands.

Craig took a deep breath and crawled onto the bed. He walked his knees up the sides of John Paul’s legs until he was sitting astride his upper thighs. John Paul reached his hands to his and rubbed his thumbs into Craig’s palms.

“Your bed’s small,” Craig said, watching the motion of John Paul’s hands.

John Paul laughed. “It’s big enough.”

“For you and Spike, you mean?” Craig felt his cheeks prick with heat; John Paul’s hands went still.

“For me and you, you idiot.”

“Right.” Craig sniffed and looked up.

“You know how much I love you,” John Paul said. His eyes roved covetously over Craig’s nearly naked body, and Craig felt his cock plumping again in anticipation.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Craig replied, following his eyes. He tossed his head and pretended to pull his fingers through a mane of long hair. “I’m beautiful.”

“That you are, sweetheart.” John Paul laughed again.

_I’ve always been a little camp, haven’t I?_

“Do you think about me?” Craig stared down at the lines of concentration on John Paul’s brow, wishing for anything to silence the critic in his head. “John Paul.”

“All the time,” John Paul said, his voice half-hoarse with desire. His fingertips explored the girdle of muscle where Craig’s waist met his hips, then traced down along the powerful thighs that held John Paul in place between them.

“I mean,” Craig said, and leaned his torso away by the faintest of degrees. John Paul dropped his hands to his sides and looked up at him, his nostrils flaring in silent petulance. “When you’re touching yourself.”

John Paul angled his head down towards the bunching of his duvet and blinked several times.

“Do you think about me then?” Craig dragged his hand down the centreline of his abdomen, smiling when John Paul’s eyes darted up to watch. “Don’t start playing coy now.”

His fingernails hung at the cyan elastic of his briefs; he rested the back of his hand lightly on his erection, his middle knuckle balancing over the wet spot on the cotton.

“Tell me, John Paul.”

“Yes. All the time.” John Paul pushed himself up by his elbows and met Craig’s eyes. “Whenever I can. In the shower. In this very bed.”

Craig’s cock bobbed in appreciation, bouncing Craig’s hand along with it; John Paul’s tongue darted to the corner of his lips for a split-second.

“So, I really do it for you?” Craig insinuated his fingers into his briefs until he could feel the roots of his pubic hair.

John Paul narrowed his eyes, almost into a glower. “Some days, I come over you more than once.”

Craig sighed, closed his eyes, and let his head loll back. He felt John Paul’s fingers at the sides of his hips again, tentative, cautious.

“What about when you’re with Spike,” Craig murmured, his eyes still shut. He felt John Paul’s hands freeze, then his touch falling away. “Do you pretend it’s me you’re with?”

“Craig, don’t—”

“I want to know.” Craig opened his eyes and looked down at John Paul’s pained expression. Slowly, he splayed his thighs wider, settling his weight onto John Paul’s pelvis. He rocked his hips forward and let his mouth hang open, gauging John Paul’s reaction. “It’s me you really want, isn’t it, John Paul? It’s me you’ve always wanted.”

“You have no fucking idea.”

Craig breathed in and closed his eyes again. “Tell me.”

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I wake up thinking about you; I spend my day sneaking looks at you; I go to bed dreaming about you. I want you so bad it hurts to breathe sometimes.”

Craig groaned and bucked his hips again, sliding his taint along the base of John Paul’s cock. He felt John Paul’s hands on his waistband again, insistent this time.

“Let me show you,” John Paul said, nearly begging.

Craig grinned. With a sudden snap of his midsection, he dove forward and pushed John Paul down to the mattress with his chest. He mirrored his arms to his and spoke with his lips at the corner of John Paul’s mouth.

“Show me,” he said, and kissed him, savouring the light, caramel haze of sherry that lingered on John Paul’s tongue, the obliging way John Paul’s lips yielded to Craig’s frantic snogging. When they parted, Craig rolled carefully to the side in the narrow bed and tugged at John Paul’s wrist.

“If there’s anything that doesn’t feel good—I mean, that you don’t want to do,” John Paul said, once he had propped himself up on his side. “I want you to tell me.” He squeezed Craig’s shoulder for emphasis.

Craig’s eyes flicked between John Paul’s eyes and lips. “Okay.”

“Okay.” John Paul smiled broadly and exhaled. “Okay.”

“Now, let’s get you naked.” Craig pawed at John Paul’s T-shirt.

“Oh. Right.” John Paul laughed haltingly and sat up, pulling off his shirt with some difficulty. Craig snatched it from him and tossed it over his shoulder. “I better—” John Paul leapt off the bed and started shimmying off his jeans.

“Leave those on,” Craig ordered, when John Paul touched his fingers to his boxers. “I want to feel them.”

“Okay.” John Paul grinned and jumped back into the bed, straddling Craig. “They’re only cotton, nothing special.”

“Funny.”

“Thank you.”

Craig lay his arms along the rise of John Paul’s thighs and rubbed his hands over the thin fabric that covered John Paul’s arse. John Paul edged up, encouraging Craig’s hands to move further back.

“Craig,” John Paul sighed.

Craig looked up. John Paul was staring down at him, his eyes azure as they caught the light from the window. His pale, supple skin was flushed with colour in patches; the muscles of his core clenched and released as Craig worked his way across his body.

_What if you’re rubbish compared to Spike?_

“John—John Paul,” Craig stammered, dropping his arms to the sheet. “I’ve never done anything like this. What if I’m not, you know, any good at it?”

“I’m not exactly a pro myself,” John Paul said, giving him a crooked smile. He leaned forward and planted his hands on either side of Craig’s chest. “But like I said, I want this more than anything.”

John Paul started scattering kisses over Craig’s neck and shoulders, then moved in a haphazard line down his body.

“So do I,” Craig replied, screwing his eyes shut. When John Paul started to lick and suck one of his nipples, Craig bucked his hips and spread his legs as far apart as John Paul’s knees let him.

“Is that good?”

“Yes,” Craig breathed.

John Paul’s tongue lingered there for a while, then centred over Craig’s navel. Craig giggled as John Paul pinched and gripped his abs with both hands.

“Just admiring your six pack,” John Paul lilted. “Ticklish?”

“No,” Craig said flatly, then giggled again.

Craig went silent when John Paul’s tongue started to flick at the head of his cock through his underwear. He felt his body tensing everywhere along its midline; his heart thundered against his ribcage. Craig opened his eyes and squinted down as John Paul peeled off his soaked Y-fronts. His cock bounced back into his belly with a dull, wet thwack, and John Paul issued a guttural sigh of approval.

John Paul eased Craig’s briefs past his toes and flung them to the carpet. Craig shifted his legs, then stared at his cock as it twitched and pulsed eagerly. Disbelief dipped in and out of the hazy thirst for John Paul that flowed between his brain and bloodstream.

_I’m having sex with a man. My dick’s harder than it’s ever been—for a man._

Craig shuddered and curled his toes as John Paul’s lips engulfed his cockhead.

“Oh,” Craig groaned. He let his head fall back into the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. John Paul sniffed in response and clutched Craig’s upper thigh. His tongue lazed back and forth over the underside of Craig’s glans.

_Does this make me gay?_

Craig scowled and jerked his hips up into the moist heat.

John Paul’s throat vibrated; Craig realised he was laughing. He steadied Craig’s arse with his hands and brought him back to the bed.

“Slow down,” John Paul said, still laughing. A string of precome stretched from the corner of his mouth to Craig’s piss slit.

“Sorry,” Craig said gruffly. He felt John Paul take a breath. “It feels good,” he added, his voice softer.

 _He’s better at this than Sarah,_ Craig thought, as John Paul resumed blowing him, swallowing him deeper this time. Craig ground his teeth together and lifted his head to watch, willing the voice in his head to silence. John Paul inclined his head to glance up at John Paul; Craig’s breath hitched at the sight of his cock bulging against the inside of his best mate’s cheek.

 _I knew he’d be a good little cocksucker._ If he were being honest, he’d had stray thoughts about what it might be like for a while—at least since John Paul had confessed to him at Hannah’s party. Maybe even earlier than that, with all the hints John Paul had been dropping for months.

Craig lay back as John Paul switched to stroking him with his hand whilst nibbling and sucking at his balls. He was already wondering what John Paul’s cock was like. Would it be longer than his? Thicker? What if he were all thumbs once he got his hands on it, and John Paul went soft?

His thoughts were interrupted by the brushing of John Paul’s finger against his hole. The nerves around his opening tingled with forbidden excitement, spreading up and out across his body. Craig tensed reflexively, dropping out of John Paul’s mouth.

_No way are you straight if you get fucked._

“Er—”

“What is it?”

Craig swallowed; he could feel his Adam’s apple gliding just under the hot, raw skin of his neck, slow and measured. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“Oh.” John Paul’s hand flew away as if stung, coming to rest almost at the side of the bed. “Right, yeah. Sorry.”

“I’m not saying—”

“It’s alright; I mean, I don’t even know what I’m doing anyway.” John Paul chuckled nervously. “I haven’t even—"

“I’m not saying, you know, that I’d never—"

“I’d probably ruin it for you.”

“No,” Craig said tenderly. “You wouldn’t, honest.”

John Paul looked down at Craig’s length, pumping it slowly with his right hand.

“Besides,” Craig said. “We have to save something for next time, don’t we?”

John Paul glanced up at him. “Next time?”

“Yeah.” Craig broke into a radiant smile; John Paul returned it and kissed his thigh. _Next time._

John Paul returned his lips to Craig’s cock, bathing the head with his tongue and the slippery walls of his mouth before working his way down again.

_Next time, why’d I say next time? He’s going to be after my arse now._

Craig moaned, the throbbing in his crotch shot through now with the alluring thought of teasing John Paul, steering him around like a puppy on a lead. He’d have to remember to drop things from their table in The Dog more often. Then John Paul could sneak a look at him bending over and work himself up over thoughts of penetrating his best mate’s tight little backside. Maybe he’d let him, Craig thought feverishly. As long as John Paul followed him about, took care of him, like a best mate should. Craig licked his lips.

“John,” Craig breathed. “John Paul.”

John Paul hummed in response and squeezed his fingers around the base of Craig’s cock like a vice. Craig canted his hips, feeling the warmth pooling in his groin.

“I’m coming for you,” Craig gasped and leaned forward, flexing his abs. “You want it?”

John Paul raised his eyebrows and sat back, moving up his hand to stroke Craig through his orgasm. He pointed Craig’s cock straight to the ceiling and quickened his pace as Craig thrust himself through his fist.

“Give me your spunk, Craig,” John Paul said reverently, choosing that moment to lock his eyes on Craig’s.

The naked, almost crazed lust in John Paul’s wide blue eyes sent Craig over the edge. His load exploded a foot into the air, falling onto his taut abdomen, his shivering thighs, his recumbent arms. Dark droplets scattered here and there across John Paul’s cerulean bedsheet.

“Oh,” John Paul soughed.

Craig’s head fell back; his body felt weak and enervated. John Paul let go of Craig as he softened and brought his hand to his mouth. Craig watched as John Paul sucked his seed from his fingers, one by one.

“Taste good?”

John Paul nodded, then wiped his hand over Craig’s chest lazily, spreading more of his come onto his hand. “You want to try mine now?”

“Huh?”

“It’s alright if you don’t. Like I said.”

“No, it’s not that. I was just so—lost in the moment.” Craig licked the thin film of sweat above his upper lip. “I want to, John Paul.”

“Right,” John Paul replied. He reached down to his boxers, rolled onto his side, and started yanking them off. Craig watched intently as John Paul’s cock popped out and swayed with the movement of his body. It was slightly curved up and to the side and nearly as pale as the rest of him, save the deep maroon at the end. Surrounding it and almost invisible in the dim light was a patch of hair that was the same delicate straw colour as the blond on John Paul’s head.

Craig shifted up the bed so that more of the pillow was supporting his neck. Wordlessly, he pulled John Paul’s thighs towards his face, let his lower jaw go slack, and guided John Paul’s tip to his tongue.

Even if he’d been obsessing over having John Paul only for himself for weeks, and even if somewhere along the line that had evolved into a sexual need, Craig hadn’t thought too deeply yet about the mechanics of sex with another man. And he’d certainly never contemplated what cock would taste like. It didn’t taste bad at all, just nondescript: the watery taste of John Paul’s recent shower and a little bit of salt.

“God, Craig,” John Paul moaned. Craig glanced up and hollowed his cheeks, wanting to pull that noise out of John Paul again. “So good.”

_Craig Dean, the cocksucker. Purveyor of blowjobs._

Craig closed his eyes and squeezed John Paul’s arse, guiding more of him into his mouth.

_Not so straight now, am I?_

Craig gagged and dribbled out a few gobs of spit as John Paul bashed into the top of his throat.

“Hey,” John Paul said, pulling back. Craig drew in a gulp of air and wiped his eyes. “You alright? I’m sorry, mate.”

“Yeah,” Craig said, with false cheer. He was still covering his eyes with one of his hands.

John Paul paused before responding. “We can stop. I mean, if you don’t like it, that’s completely fine.”

“Nah.” Craig opened his eyes again and smiled up at John Paul. “I love it. It’s just—all new to me.”

_I love it._

Craig curled his fingers around John Paul’s length and gently rolled his foreskin over his head. A bead of precome drooped out, and Craig darted his tongue out to catch it.

“Craig,” John Paul whispered. He kneaded his fingers through Craig’s hair as Craig lapped at the underside of his cock again.

He took in John Paul slowly this time, paying more attention to how and when and where the rigid pressure poked at the sides of his mouth. He noted how John Paul rocked his hips in response to certain angles of his head and different motions of his tongue. He watched the breath rise and fall in John Paul’s chest and the expressions that flickered over his eyes and lips. More than anything, he wanted to hear John Paul whimpering and crying and moaning his name, assuring him that Craig was the only one he wanted. The only one he’d ever want.

“Craig,” John Paul whined.

 _That’s right. Scream my name, John Paul._ The image of Spike’s smug face flitted by, sharpening Craig’s pleasure. _If only he knew._

“Craig,” John Paul repeated, tapping at his shoulder.

_You’re mine. No one else has a chance next to me._

Craig glanced up as John Paul slid out of his mouth with a lewd pop.

“Craig, I’m—I’m going to come soon.”

“Ah,” Craig said. His own voice sounded addled and far-off. He blinked at John Paul’s twitching, dripping cock; the head was a brighter, angry red now.

“Where should I—”

“Come in my mouth,” Craig interrupted. He passed his tongue over his lips and stared into John Paul’s bright blue eyes, then grabbed John Paul’s length and brought it back inside him.

“Craig,” John Paul groaned, his voice cracking. “Fuck, Craig.”

 _Mine_ , Craig thought, as John Paul’s seed splashed against the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” John Paul repeated, his fingers massaging the sides of Craig’s head. Craig made a gurgling sound in response and licked around John Paul’s tip as he pulled out haltingly, his thighs shaking as he settled back onto Craig’s chest.

“Wow,” John Paul said. He was still hunched over, collecting himself. Craig breathed in the palpable heat, the overpowering scent of sex, that wafted off John Paul’s body, ravenous for it.

“Marks out of ten?” Craig quipped.

_Can I make a joke of it now?_

“A hundred.” John Paul laughed. “No, a thousand. You’re amazing.”

Craig smiled back at him, then took a deep breath. “Do you have a, um, tissue or something?”

“Oh, yeah.” John Paul reached across Craig’s body and opened the drawer of his bedside table. Craig pulled a few tissues from the box and dabbed them to his face.

“You might need a few more than that,” John Paul said, his eyes travelling down Craig’s torso.

“It’s all dry now. I’ll have to take a shower anyway.”

“Do you want to—"

“At home, I mean,” Craig said tersely. He sat up and reached for his underwear and his vest.

John Paul snorted. “Doing a runner?”

“No.” _Yes._ Craig pulled on the undergarments and glanced at John Paul. “I’m just cold, that’s all.”

“Oh.” John Paul grabbed his boxers and T-shirt from the floor. “Me too, yeah.”

Craig sat still against the metal bars of John Paul’s bedframe and looked at the posters on the wall.

“Mum never lets us turn the heating on unless it's practically freezing,” John Paul was saying, as he shrugged on his shirt. “Lifestyles of the rich and famous, eh?”

“It’s fine.” Craig balled up the tissues in his hand and placed them on John Paul’s table. They had barely helped with cleaning the stickiness from his skin.

“But hey, that just means we get to cuddle together for warmth.” John Paul wriggled his body down the bed and brought his hand to the shallow of Craig’s waist.

“I don’t know.”

“Eh?”

Craig sighed. “I should get back before anyone gets home.”

“Just for a little while,” John Paul insisted.

Craig tilted his head and obliged him, sliding down the sheet so that their bodies were aligned, his back to John Paul.

 _This feels weird_ , Craig thought.

John Paul slung his arm over Craig’s chest and snuggled his body in closer.

_Here’s Craig Dean, the little spoon for another boy._

“Was it—okay?” John Paul kissed the nape of his neck. “I mean, I know it was your first time—”

“It was fine,” Craig said abruptly.

“Oh, cheers,” John Paul joked. He paused when Craig didn’t laugh. “That _was_ your first time with—I mean, wasn’t it?”

“Of course it was.” Craig leaned forward, almost at the drop of the bed now. “You think I’ve ever done anything like—that—before?”

“Well, like I said, you were pretty amazing at it.”

“Thanks,” Craig said. _Anything to get you to stop talking about it._

John Paul’s arm nudged him gently back; his muscles shifted to fit along Craig’s lines.

“I love you.”

Craig tensed mid-breath. His skin prickled where John Paul’s breath swirled hopefully.

“It’s okay,” John Paul said, after a few seconds. He reached down, seeking Craig’s hand, and stroked it with his thumb once he’d found it. “It is. I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m rushing you. I know how hard it is.”

Craig exhaled and shrugged his chest inwards. The vague softness of John Paul’s flaccid penis against the curve of his buttocks may as well have been a claymore through his gut.

“I probably sound stupid,” John Paul was continuing. “Or wet, or whatever. I’m just so incredibly happy. I never dreamed—I mean, you and me! It’s mental!”

Craig gritted his teeth and edged further from John Paul, then rolled down onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. _Why won’t he just shut up?_

“That’s not strictly accurate, of course.” Craig could tell that John Paul was smiling as he prattled on. _Like the cat that got the cream_ , Craig thought, his brows knitting in disgust. One of his mother’s stock idioms. Craig felt his bowels churn as he thought about what she’d say if she ever found out about this.

“Craig?” John Paul had turned to him, his eyes staring across the few inches between them. “Everything alright?”

Craig snorted. “I’m meant to talk now, am I?”

“Well—yeah,” John Paul said, a note of confusion creeping back into his voice. “To tell you the truth, I’m still not sure any of this is real.”

 _If only_ , Craig thought. _If only I’d never met you._

“I mean, I’m still wondering—” John Paul began, stroking his fingers along the inside of Craig’s forearm. Craig winced and coiled his other hand into a fist.

 _Dirty, filthy little queer._ Craig felt the sharp sloshing of bile at the base of his throat. _And what does that make me?_

John Paul drew back his hand and propped himself up on his elbow. “How did that happen, eh?”

Craig jerked himself upright and faced the door. His left leg shuddered against the bedframe. At least he hadn’t done everything; maybe there was a way back from this. Maybe he could forget this had ever happened.

_I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted his hard cock inside my arse, filling me up—_

John Paul sighed. “I’ve dreamt about that for a long time, you know.”

Craig leapt to his feet and started tugging his jeans on. _What kind of pervert lusts after his mate? Jake was right: they’re all sick._ He grabbed his shirt from the floor and turned it around in his hands, feeling tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

“You haven’t got to rush off, alright? There’s not going to be anyone back for ages.”

John Paul was touching his arm again. _He never gives up, does he? Just pursues and pursues—_

“Keep your hands off me.” Craig whipped around, relishing the fear and confusion in John Paul’s eyes. “Faggot!”

After he had slammed the bedroom door behind him, Craig took a few steps, then leaned against the wall of the hallway. His head throbbed, demanding that he pause and regain his balance. Craig shook out his polo and pulled it on. His hand still felt sticky; worse, the taste of John Paul’s spunk, salty and chlorinous, lingered in his mouth, together with the nutty afterglow of sherry.

_I’m a disgrace._

Craig blotted his eyes and stumbled down the hallway. He had to get out of the house before John Paul recovered from the shock and came after him. At the landing, Craig retrieved his shoes from the third and fifth steps, where they had been abandoned in his frenzy to get upstairs. He plunged his feet into them, turned the lock, and stepped onto the McQueens’ porch.

The spring air whirled around his neck as he shuffled down the garden path. Halfway to the street, he felt the buzzing of his mobile against his thigh. _Sarah. 3 Missed Calls._

Craig turned around and glared up at John Paul’s window, gripping his phone as it buzzed. Even though the sun had already sunk down into the upper branches of the trees, it was still too bright out to tell whether John Paul was looking back at him. Craig stood there in the cold, his lips quivering against his teeth, his tears chilling the raw skin of his face, staring up at a reflection of the world, until his mobile was still again and there was nothing left for him to do but run.


End file.
